


Out of League

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean’s Destroyed By Michael, M/M, Tattooed!Michael, bar setting, flustered!dean, playing pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Dean knows he’s in over his head when he challenges the handsome stranger to a game of pool.





	Out of League

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askatosch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askatosch/gifts).



> IT’S ANOTHER FICMAS FIC AND THIS ONE IS FOR THE AWESOME @askatosch. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS. :)

Dean Winchester knew he was out of his league when he swaggered up to the pool table at the somewhat sleazy bar he had decided to frequent tonight. Out of his league both pool wise and the fact that he was eyeing up one of the people already currently playing. 

Both men that were playing were extremely handsome, but Dean had his eyes on the dark haired one who didn’t seem to crack a smile. He carried himself with a quiet sort of confidence. He was dressed in a simple black button down and black jeans. On the inside of his right arm, Dean could see the details of a large, ornate, Gothic style cross. It made Dean weak. 

“Heya, fellas,” he said with a bright smile. “Mind if I play?” 

“Two on one?” the fair haired companion to Dean’s current wet dream asked excitedly. His eyes were icy blue and glittering with mischief, a smirk that reminded Dean of something that came from the devil playing across his lips. He was only an inch or so taller than his companion, and he was dressed in a black tank top and dark blue jeans. Skulls, snakes, and what looked like Latin spiraled up his arms, and Dean could make out a skull earring in the man’s right ear. 

“I was thinking of one on one.” Dean used the beer he was holding to point to the dark haired man. “With him.” 

The blond whistled lowly. “Prepare to have your ass kicked, then,” he said. “Good luck. I’ll rack the balls.” 

“What’s your name?” The dark haired man asked.

Fuck. That man sounded like he was the Scotch that Crowley loved so much. Smoky, spicy, smooth. Dean’s mouth went dry. 

“Dean,” he managed to say. He’s not sure how, but he managed. 

The man nodded. There seemed to be a ghost of a smile on his face. “Michael,” he introduced himself. He swapped his pool stick into his other hand and reached across the table to shake Dean’s hand. 

The hand that was in Dean’s now was callused, strong, firm. It made Dean long for it to be everywhere on him. “Pleasure,” he said, going for a cocksure smile. 

“I’m Lucifer, in case anyone cares,” the blond announced. Michael and Dean turned to see that the balls were racked and Lucifer was placing them neatly in the center of the table, removing the triangle. “Who’s breaking?” 

Michael inclined his head to the table. “I’ll let you break.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said. He chalked his stick before lining it up with the cue ball, deciding on the best angle in which to hit the balls with. 

 

Michael, it turned out, was the best goddamn pool player Dean’s ever gone against. He seemed to know what moves Dean would be doing before Dean did and did everything to undermine each attempt. 

It was simple, though. Strategic. And Dean wasn’t sure that Michael was entirely honorable throughout the game. Michael  _ had  _ to know that Dean got distracted by him. How those long, thick fingers caressed the pool stick. The way his throat moved as whiskey slid down his throat. The look of intense concentration when he was lining up his shot. The way his ass looked in those jeans. 

Lucifer had retreated to a table near the pool match and he was sipping a glass of whiskey himself, smirking as he watched Dean get frustrated. 

It looked as if Lucifer  _ enjoyed  _ his misery. 

 

“8 Ball, corner pocket,” Michael announced. 

This game wasn’t fair. Somehow, it had gotten down to just the 8 Ball. Somewhere between Dean’s fourth beer and fifth beer, Michael had sunk the rest of his balls, the rest of Dean’s, and was now working on the 8 Ball. Michael had won. 

Instead of being unhappy about losing (not that Dean was, this was the most challenging pool match he’s had in years), Dean took the time to study the smooth angles of Michael’s body as he bent over the pool table, cue between his fingers nimbly, jade eyes dark with concentration. 

_ Click.  _

Cue met cue ball, cue ball met 8 Ball, 8 Ball sunk into the corner pocket. 

Lucifer gave a mock round of applause. “Congrats, Dean-O, you lost. But not as spectacularly as I thought you would.” 

Dean rolled his eyes at Lucifer before switching his cue from his right hand to his left, holding it out for Michael to shake. “Good game,” he said warmly. 

Michael took it, shaking it. “Yes, it was,” he agreed. “Lucifer, a moment alone?” 

“You want me to leave?” Lucifer sounded offended. “Mikey, you’re breaking my heart.” 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Scram, Lucifer.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes, flipping off the back of Michael’s head as he walked over to the bar, smiling flirtily with the bartender. Dean rolled his eyes before raising his eyes to meet Michael’s. Fuck, they were dark. Such a dark, beautiful green. Jade, or something like that. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Michael murmured lowly. 

Dean blinked. “For what?” he asked. 

“For giving me the hardest game of pool I’ve played in years that wasn’t against my brothers,” Michael replied. 

Dean blinked. “Really?” 

Michael’s lips quirked up in a cruel, confident smile. Dean felt his knees quake. “It was more of a mental exercise, really, but I did have difficulties focusing.” 

Dean laughed shakily. “That makes two of us,” he said with a smile. 

Michael gave a low, rumbling chuckle. “I think you underestimate how much I wanted to keep you pinned to that pool table so I could make you scream,” he said in a low, dark voice. 

_ Well. Damn. _ “Uh,” Dean said intelligently. 

Michael smirked and stepped a little bit more into Dean’s personal space. “What, you didn’t think I noticed the way you were eyeing me up?” he asked. 

Dean flushed. “Was I that obvious?” he asked. 

“Only to a trained observer, who was also eyeing you up,” Michael smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. But, please tell me you have a car.” 

“Would a 1967 Chevy Impala do?” Dean asked breathlessly. 

“Oh  _ God _ yes,” Michael breathed, snatching Dean’s hand. “I was hoping you drove here. I don’t think a motorcycle would give us the privacy we need.” 

Dean whimpered as Michael began pulling him with determination out of the bar. “You have a motorcycle?” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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